


Dying To Touch

by musicaldeaths



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, The Academy Is...
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-08-23 05:57:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8316454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicaldeaths/pseuds/musicaldeaths
Summary: Part of me was wondering whether I’d made a terrible mistake, whether I should’ve stopped Bill when he walked into my hotel room that night, or even when he knocked on the bathroom door at that party, but if I really thought about it, if someone invented a time machine and asked me if I wanted to go back and change the last couple months, I’d have said “no, thanks, I’m good” because then I never would’ve known what it was like to have Bill, begging and vulnerable beneath me, or lying serene and calm beside me, and I don’t think I’d trade that knowledge for the world. In other words: the result of me trying to practice writing smut and accidentally writing a proper fic.Gabe's POV. Full of denial and obliviousness and sex, because that's just where my talent lies. Begins in Honda Civic 2007, all dates are canon because I'm a sucker for accuracy. It's unbeta-ed but I've tried to minimise typos, and I'll probably add stuff to earlier chapters because I'm never satisfied, but enjoy!Rated Explicit for: language, sexual content, mild drug use, moderate alcohol use





	1. What William Wants

The Thing about William (yes – capitalized Ts and all) is that he gets what he wants. This could usually be accredited to his sheer stubborn determination and - perhaps even more so - his ability to charm people like snakes until they’re utterly helpless under his spell, willing to be bent and used for whatever purpose they might serve. It isn’t that he’s manipulative (at least not intentionally) it’s more that he’s likeable, and driven, and those two things just happen to work themselves out.

I don’t claim to have known all this from the beginning – not at all, but thinking back to the night two years ago where I’d first been introduced to him at some FBR release party, there was something in the way he stood, lanky and awkward yet somehow still overpowering, that must have warned me; this boy with the unruly hair and slender face is risky business, and not a force to be reckoned with. But did I pay attention? Of course not. I’m Gabe fucking Saporta and I couldn’t tell a bad idea if it was assaulting me with a pair of Pete Wentz’s hair straighteners.

Within a year of our acquaintance, we’d already been in the studio together, laying down a – pretty awesome, if I may say so – track for the movie ‘Snakes On A Plane’. I don’t even remember the details of how William and I became friends; it seemed to magically shift from formal handshakes and polite conversation to drunken cuddling and wrestling matches – oh yeah, which brings me to the next chapter of the ridiculous book entitled “Gabe and William’s Complex Yet Natural Relationship”.

It was five months ago, on the second week of the Honda Civic tour, and I’d convinced Nate and Alex to help me sneak into the Academy bus and steal some of their booze. It was a pretty dumb idea to begin with actually, considering we had our own, but I was riding the post-show high like a motherfucker and the Academy were still playing their set so it seemed like the sensible thing to do. Well, maybe not sensible, but anyway.

It was half an hour later when they finally made their way back to the bus, by which point a decent crowd of people had also shown up and were milling around in a semi-inebriated state (what can I say? Parties just form around me a lot of the time), and I was happily making my way through one of Bill’s prized bottles of Jack Daniels whilst sitting on the couch with my feet on the coffee table. I hadn’t even realized they’d gotten back until –

“GABRIEL FUCKING SAPORTA WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!”

And then Bill was standing in front of me, miles of leg and arm clad in far-too-tight clothing, glistening with sweat and still red in the face from the set they’d just played, and glaring at me with so much malice I was surprised he didn’t spontaneously combust right there. I was too busy admiring the view to anticipate the sudden weight knocking the air out of my lungs and it took me a moment to register that Bill was on top of me, wrestling me into the couch and planting more than half-assed punches on every part of my torso he could reach. Usually I could easily take him in a fight (he’s not exactly the most athletic of guys) but the alcohol was affecting my motor skills and well, he caught me a little off-guard to say the least. I tried to move my arms over where he was attacking, but he was fucking agile and managed to pin my arms above my head. The movement caused him to lose his balance and briefly scramble before his arms buckled and left him lying pressed up against me and – oh god, I cursed my body’s eagerness as his hip pushed against my crotch and the pressure revealed how unmistakably hard this was making me. There was a terrible moment of silence where he wasn’t speaking or moving and neither was I before the contact was gone and Bill was standing up again, picking up his Jack Daniels from the coffee table and taking a long swig.

That’s when I ran. Well – as fast as a guy can run when he’s both painfully hard and wearing ridiculously tight pants.

 

~

 

I didn’t see Bill for most of the next day because I was avoiding him (or maybe he was avoiding me) and it wasn’t until 15 minutes before our set that I saw him, long leg outstretched on the dressing room coffee table as he sang arpeggios to himself. He should’ve looked ridiculous like that but somehow he managed to make it seem natural, like you saw people doing this every day – which, to be fair, on tour you pretty much did. I hadn’t meant to stare, in fact I didn’t realize I _was_ staring until Bill’s eyes met my own and I was blushing and looking away.

Just as he seemed like he might say something, Tony was beckoning me onstage and I felt like a teenager having been saved by the bell.

I was more tense than usual as we played our set that night, and the crowd seemed to be able to sense it, feeding off my nervous energy and in return screaming louder and moving faster than any of the crowds of the tour so far.

As Ryland began playing the intro riff to Snakes On A Plane, I felt the crowd roar in my ears. They knew William was coming on to the stage to sing this one; he’d done it every night we’d toured together, but for the first time, my heart rate was soaring like I’d never played a live show before.

I didn’t even need to look to know when Bill had walked on stage with how the already deafening crowd screamed even louder at his presence – but of course, I did anyway. The sight of Bill was nothing new, but somehow it felt like watching him perform for the first time ever, his long feathered hair framing the smug smile on his face; the tight red v-neck that was slightly riding up at the hem, exposing a slice of bare skin that I had to explicitly try not to think about; the way his long legs carried him effortlessly almost right to the audience with more confidence than he ever seemed to possess offstage. If there was anyone who really _belonged_ onstage, it was William, no doubt about it.

As I sang the verse, Bill wandered over to Victoria and said something to her and they exchanged one of those happy moments which only seemed to take place between friends like Bill and Victoria, and that didn’t make me feel jealous at all, quite the opposite actually, thank you very much.

Bill sang the chorus flawlessly, even better than he usually did, belting the notes out with an impressive stamina that even I couldn’t claim to match, and whenever we made eye contact, he was always the last to look away.

~

The thing was, everything more or less went back to normal after that. I’m not really sure what I was expecting (other than a whole lot of tension – sexual or otherwise) but it sure as hell wasn’t the intense guitar hero tournament Bill roped me into (Sisky won of course – Sisky had ninja-like reflexes when it came to video games) nor the grave look on Bill’s face when he declared that Butcher’s prized poker chip had gone missing and Alex and Nate were prime suspects, resulting in TAI keeping us Cobras “under siege” – as William put it, while they conducted a thorough investigation.

While the most part of me was relieved that I hadn’t ruined me and Bill’s friendship with a horribly mistimed boner, the rest of me was starting to think maybe I imagined the whole thing, which just made me overanalyze it even more.

~

 

We were at a party. I don’t remember whose, but what did it matter really? What mattered was that there was music and dancing and alcohol and – of course – there was Bill. I hadn’t seen him yet, but if there was a party Bill was usually at it; one of the things we have in common, him and me. I was only on my second drink by the time I spotted him, leaning against the wall and clearly chatting up a short blonde, red solo cup in (left) hand. I swallowed and scanned the room for my band mates and after coming up empty handed, decided to do what I do best – dance.

The beat wasn’t amazing, and I was about to tell the DJ to put something else on, when I heard a familiar beat pumping through the speakers and I looked up to see Sisky at the DJ booth, grinning at me as my voice came through the speakers “I came here to make you dance tonight…”

Almost out of habit, I looked around to see how Bill was reacting, and when I saw him, I immediately regretted it. The blonde was kissing him; not passionately, not meaningfully, but kissing him nonetheless. He leant his head back as she started to kiss his jaw and down the curve of his exposed neck, and my brain was starting to register that maybe I should stop looking when his eyes fluttered open and his gaze fixed on mine. I finished my drink.

 

~

 

“Hurry up already!” I smacked my fist against the bathroom door probably more times than necessary for whoever was in there to get the message. It was a few seconds before I heard the door unlatch and saw a drunk Alex and some chick stumble out. He’d probably give me shit about kicking him out when he sobered up, but for now he just said “Oh, hi Gabe,” and offered me a drunken smile before walking straight past me.

I slid through the doorway and made my way to the sink, splashing cold water over my face. I was gripping the sides of the basin, staring at my reflection when the first knock rang through the room.

“Ocupada” I called out half-heartedly.

Apparently the intruder took this as invitation and opened the door that I had neglected to lock, spinning to lock the door behind him.

I spun around. “William, what are you-”

And before I knew it he was pressing his hands against the sides of my neck and his lips against mine. I grunted rather unceremoniously, hands grabbing for something to hold onto before he reached down to take my hands and place them on his hips, sliding his tongue into my mouth as he did so. He pressed himself flush against me and I involuntarily moaned as the friction sent pleasure shooting through my spine.

Once I had gathered my thoughts enough to register what was happening, I pulled away from him. “Bill, stop, you’re drunk, you- oh fuck” my sentence was cut short when he pressed his open palm against my crotch.

He looked at me; pupils blown and lips parted and said, “You’re hard.”

And I didn’t even have time to be embarrassed because then he was unbuttoning my jeans and slipping a hand past the waistband of my briefs. His hand was cold, and I gasped at the contact, rocking against his palm without meaning to.

“You’re so hard,” he said again, with something like amazement in his voice – it was both adorable and embarrassing at the same time.

“Bill, fuck, please,” I moaned because he wasn’t even _doing_ anything, and I was becoming desperate.

He seemed to come to his senses then as he pulled his hand out of my underwear and I was about to say _wait, no, that’s not what I meant_ but then he was tugging my jeans down to mid-thigh and sinking to his knees. He looked up at me, cocking his head to one side as he put his hand back on my cock and started to lazily jerk me off. When he took the head into his mouth and I had to force myself to close my eyes to stop this from finishing before it had even started. He placed his other hand against my hip so I was trapped against the sink as he took more of me into his mouth. I groaned, tugging his hair lightly as he sucked harder and ran his tongue along the underside of my dick.

Yeah, obviously I’d been blown before, I knew this was a series of predictable movements designed to feel good – that didn’t stop me from moaning his name like I’d never been touched. Heat pooled at the base of my stomach and as I felt myself hit the back of his throat I barely had enough time to say, “Fuck, Bill, I’m gonna-” before my orgasm hit and I was coming so hard I saw stars. He pulled off a second too late and I felt slightly guilty as a white streak striped against his cheek, but he didn’t seem to mind, just wiping it off with the back of his hand as he stood up.

He pushed his hair behind his ear and looked at the ground, lips curving upward slightly, before turning around and walking back towards the door, not saying a word as he swung it open and walked out.

 

~

 

We weren’t talking about it; that’s what I had gathered from the few brief conversations we’d had in the days that had followed. Part of me wanted to just go up to him and say: _hey, thanks for the blowjob, I swear I usually have more stamina than that, what do you say about going for round 2?_ but the other (thankfully more dominant) part of me was willing to claim total amnesia and never mention it again.

Except that was difficult, because every once in a while I would look up at William from across the bus, or stage, or parking lot, and he’d be looking at me with something in his gaze that made my voice falter and cold beads of sweat break out just underneath my hairline, and I’d find myself hoping against hope that it’s want in his eyes, because, well – as I said – William gets what he wants.


	2. The List of Things Gabe Saporta Doesn't Do

Honda Civic was over before we knew it, and venue bathrooms and gas stations turned back into management meetings and superficial interviews; I didn’t mind much actually, I’ve always been intrigued by the business side of the industry. There was an odd month where for the first time in three months, we weren’t on tour with the Academy – or with _anyone_ for that matter – and it felt…strange. My Manhattan apartment was nice: right size, nice area, decent price, but after a few days I was starting to feel claustrophobic, so when Pete called and demanded I fly down to LA and spend the week with him, I didn’t need much convincing.

 

~

Three Red-Bull-and-vodkas into the first night at Pete’s and I was sitting in his back garden with Andy, Joe and a couple of their friends while Pete was talking animatedly about his new ideas for the label. A spliff made it’s way around the circle and towards me and I took a couple generous tokes before passing it over.

“-that kids got some good fuckin’ energy in him y’know,” Pete continued. “He like, does what he wants and he knows what he’s got.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, and judging by the amused looks on the other guys’ faces, neither did they; then again maybe they were just stoned.

Even late in the day, California was fucking scorching, and when Pete stripped down to his boxers and obnoxiously dive-bombed into the pool, I didn’t hesitate in joining him. The others were long gone and the sun was setting when we climbed out, sitting with our legs over the edge and our feet in the water. I must’ve been on my fifth or sixth drink when we got onto the subject of William.

“I don’t know, man, he’s just an interesting _person_ y’know? Like not only a pretty face or whatever the fuck they say.”

I smiled at Pete’s drunkenness and nodded my head.

“You guys seem pretty close though right?” he continued. “Like I know ‘cause of Snakes and everything but also in general you guys are like always hanging out and stuff.”

There was a brief silence. “He blew me.”

Pete looked at me and snorted. “Sure, in your dreams maybe.”

He grinned, taking a drink, and I just looked at him. He put his drink down.

“Holy fuck – seriously?”

That was more the reaction I was going for.

“He blew you?! When?”

I leant back on my arms and tried to play it down although I couldn’t quite believe it myself. “Honda Civic, we were at some party.”

Pete was still gaping at me and I could almost see the gears working in his brain as he struggled to process the information. Eventually he stood up, shaking his head in disbelief and said – “Damn Saporta – you are one lucky motherfucker.” – before walking off to retrieve another beer.

 

~

 

Before I knew it, it was August 2nd and we were on tour again, just having landed in Australia after almost 36 hours of travelling, and as exciting as it was to be back in the swing of things, being around Bill again was starting to make me nervous, and nervous isn’t something I _do_ , okay, ask anyone.

This wasn’t a crush (I don’t do those either actually, jot that down in your list of things Gabe Saporta doesn’t do) it was just sexual attraction – in fact it was just sexual _frustration_ , I mean, I liked sex and William was attractive, therefore logic suggests that I just wanted the stimulation, and not that I was attracted to _him_ in particular.

I decided to prove this to myself by hooking up with a random girl in a bar in Sydney on the first night of the tour, and it didn’t mean anything that her hair was wavy and shoulder length and her cheekbones were high and sharp and it _definitely_ didn’t mean anything that the image of Bill on his knees in the bathroom sucking me off was what pushed me over the edge when I fucked her in my hotel room after the show.

Okay – so maybe I was a little attracted to William, but it’s just sex! People wanna fuck their friends all the time, right? Anyway, it didn’t even matter, just because I wanted to have sex with him didn’t mean I _needed_ to; I was perfectly capable of controlling myself.

Luckily a bunch of the Australian shows we were playing were in hotels, so we got free access to their nice suites, and a break from living on the bus which we were more than happy about; I love my band but hey, there’s only so much invasion of privacy one guy can handle.

I’d barely dropped my bags on the floor of my hotel room before Alex was practically pulling me out the door and to a party that he’d somehow got us all invited to. I was tempted to just say no and stay in for the night but that would freak everyone out too much (add missing parties to The List of Things Gabe Saporta Doesn’t Do).

As soon as we’d arrived, Chislett was swarmed (I swear he’s been getting far too much attention this tour) which thankfully left an open bar, and I helped Alex carry shots to the others. We toasted to something unremarkable, probably “my pants” or something, and I gracefully downed five shots without a chaser.

I know you shouldn’t drink to forget, but not thinking about it felt a lot better than thinking about it, and alcohol was definitely helping me avoid any and all thoughts of William and his gorgeous bone structure. It also stopped my heart from jumping into my throat when he joined me on the dance floor, as it otherwise would’ve, and it meant that for the first time since the beginning of the tour, I was genuinely enjoying myself again.

I grabbed his hand and span him around during a Spice Girls song and when I caught his eye and saw the grin that lit up his eyes, it felt like nothing had changed, like there’d never been any tension in the first place, and it felt so _good_. Warmth exploded in my chest as the song ended and he stumbled over after a failed pirouette, reaching out for my arm to steady himself, and I must’ve been gazing at him adoringly like an idiot because when he regained his balance, he wiped hair out of his face and said, “what?” and I didn’t even think, just said “c’mere,” and pulled him towards me, and we were kissing.

My hands instinctively flew to the sides of his neck and I felt his slide over my chest and grip onto my t-shirt. It was gentle but firm, little bit of give, little bit of take, soft and wet and perfect – for all intents and purposes, it was like any other kiss, but it wasn’t, it wasn’t anything like any other kiss because it was just us, in the middle of a dance floor, in a foreign country, surrounded by strangers, it was only us, and it was everything.

We must’ve stayed there for a while, because when he pulled away at the sound of Mike’s voice, my lips were numb and I’d gotten used to the taste of him.

“Bill, Sisky just showed the bouncer his dick I think it’s time to get outta here.” Mike didn’t comment on the fact that Bill and I had literally just been making out in the middle of a club and I found myself wondering if Bill had told him about what happened on Honda Civic. Then again, it was Mike Carden; I'm pretty sure you could've told him you jacked off to the thought of dead people and he'd just shrug and say something about the weather.

Bill just nodded and followed him through the crowds. I went to find Alex and the others because although Mike had barely acknowledged my existence, if the Academy boys were leaving, so were we.

Bill, Butcher, Alex and I shared a taxi back to the hotel, and both Bill and I were too out of it to engage in Butcher and Alex’s conversation, so we ended up gazing out of our prospective windows. The fifteen minutes it took before we were back at our rooms felt like hours, but finally I was sat on my bed, willing myself to get up and get undressed.

I could’ve imagined the knock; I was drunk enough for that, but I wasn’t drunk enough to risk not answering, so I pushed myself to my feet and crossed the room, pulling the door open.

It was William. He didn’t look like he had 10 minutes ago in the taxi – withdrawn and distant, nor did he look elated and relaxed like he had in the club. He looked timid; it might’ve been the way the light was shining from behind him, casting shadows on his face, or maybe I was only now starting to notice the few inches I had on him, but he looked small.

Words were lodged in my throat.

“Can I come in?”

I stepped back, apparently still unable to speak, and he stepped past me into the room. I shut the door.

I counted the seconds. One – he looked at me, briefly at my eyes and then at my lips; two – he cleared his throat, I swallowed; three – there was silence bar the quiet sounds of our breathing; four – he moved, and I moved and I stopped counting. Then his lips were pressed against mine and we were kissing again, but different this time, more urgent, like I could find the cure for cancer somewhere in his mouth if I looked hard enough.

He pulled me towards him and our bodies collided clumsily while I slipped a hand into his hair. I pulled lightly on the strands, coaxing a low noise from the back of his throat that turned me on more than I expected it to. We both stumbled across the room until the back of his knees hit the bed and he fell backwards, pulling me with him. This time there was no voice in the back of my head warning me against this, or if there was, I was far too desperate to hear it.

He pushed me back until I was standing up again and started unbuttoning my shirt. I tried to help him, but most likely ended up being more of a nuisance than anything else, and pulled my sleeves off when it was open. I helped him out of his t-shirt, and as soon as it was off his hands were working on my belt buckle. I was still trying to catch up with the situation when he’d pulled down my jeans, and almost fell over whilst trying to free my ankles from them when he leaned forward and started mouthing my cock through my boxers.

“Fuck, Bill,” I said as I steadied myself on the bed. He started kissing a trail up my neck from underneath me until his lips lingered by my ear.

“Good idea,” he hummed.

My pulse quickened. “What?”

He sat back on his elbows and stared intently at me. “I think you should fuck me.”

“Fuck,” I breathed, pressing my lips against his. I could do that.

I licked through the seam of his lips, kissing him hard as I reached between our bodies to undo his jeans and pull them off. I broke the kiss to trail my lips down his neck and over his chest, kissing him everywhere my mouth could find before continuing on to kiss down his stomach. I felt his grip tighten on my hair as I moved my hands to pull off his boxers. He was as hard as I was, and I didn’t hesitate before licking a stripe down his shaft, and the small whimper he let out was more than enough encouragement for me. I took the head into my mouth, mimicking the blowjobs I’d gotten in the past as best I could, trying to vary the pressure, and I must have done something right because the noises Bill made were the best reward I could’ve asked for. A few moments later, Bill let out a moan that transformed into an aggravated sigh and he tugged on my hair and said “Gabe, please just fuck me already.”

I didn’t need to be asked twice. I managed to climb off the bed somewhat smoothly, and located the lube and condoms in my suitcase surprisingly quickly. William took the lube and told me to “just hurry up and put it on” while he prepared himself. I stripped off my boxers and obeyed, and it must’ve been less than a minute before William was practically pulling me inside.

When my cock made it past the first main ring of muscle, the pressure was already overwhelming. Before you say anything, I’d never fucked someone up the ass before okay? It’s harder than it looks. I managed to get used to the pressure enough to actually start fucking him, and he made a contented little hum when I finally started moving. He was so much tighter than I’d expected, and by the time my thrusts were hitting his prostate and he was letting out irresistible moans, I could feel myself nearing the edge. It was almost a relief when he reached a hand between us and started jerking off, his breaths slowly becoming as rapid as mine.

I tried to angle myself so that I was hitting his prostate with every movement and it seemed like it worked because then Bill was saying “Oh, fuck, Gabe, I’m gonna-“ and every ounce of self-control left me and I came hard, arms trembling where I was holding myself up, and when my vision returned Bill followed suit – choking out a low moan and coming all over our stomachs. There were a few seconds where we both panted into each other’s mouths, unmoving, and then I pulled out and tied the condom, throwing it away before pulling the duvet over us and turning off the light. I hoped against hope that he wouldn’t get up and leave, and someone must’ve been listening, because then he rolled over and curled into my chest and I held him until I heard his breathing even out.

Well, I guess you should probably cross _William Beckett_ off The List of Things Gabe Saporta Doesn’t Do.


	3. It Was A Plane Ride

Waking up was surreal. It took me a moment to remember where I was, and why Bill’s leg was draped over me, thigh pressing against my all-too-eager crotch, hair hanging over his face and his breaths barely audible under the sound of the outside traffic. Not to be cliché but it was moments like these that I wished I had a camera, and that I knew how to make use of it so that the picture might capture a glimpse of what he looked like right now, and how hard it was for me to move even an inch in fear of waking him and breaking the spell. _Jesus Saporta – since when did you start thinking like Hemingway?_

I managed to suppress my inner monologue enough to gently slip out from under the covers and into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror was almost disappointing; I hadn’t exactly expected to look like a changed man but being met with the same tired eyes and greasy hair that I’d seen yesterday seemed kind of anticlimactic – I mean I sure as hell _felt_ different.

When I walked back into the bedroom William was sitting up, rubbing his left eye with the back of his hand. He tilted his head up to look at me and I was suddenly unnecessarily conscious of the fact that I was naked.

“Did we…?” he trailed off.

“Yeah,” I cleared my throat.

“Oh,” he looked around like he didn’t know what to make of it all.

There was a brief silence. He didn’t look at me; my eyes didn’t leave him.

“I should go,” he said, finally moving from the bed.

“Oh.” _Great_.

“No I mean,” he started picking up his clothes and pulling them on, still not looking at me. “It’s like 10, Sisky – the guys are probably looking for me and uh…yeah.”

“Right, yeah, of course.” _Gabe, you’re an idiot_.

He pulled on his jacket and walked to the door, finally looking at me. “I’ll…I’ll see you at soundcheck.”

“Yeah.”

He gave me a tight-lipped smile, nodded his head and walked out the door.

 

~

 

The last two Australian dates were odd. I may well have been imagining the tension (after all, Nate and Ryland hadn’t seemed to notice it) but when Alex and Victoria caught me staring at Bill for a second too long or taking too long to answer a question, they each gave me a concerned look and either asked me if something was wrong or just avoided whatever the subject of conversation was altogether.

Part of me was wondering whether I’d made a terrible mistake, whether I should’ve stopped Bill when he walked into my hotel room that night, or even when he knocked on the bathroom door at that party, but if I really thought about it, if someone invented a time machine and asked me if I wanted to go back and change the last couple months, I’d have said “no, thanks, I’m good” because then I never would’ve known what it was like to have Bill, begging and vulnerable beneath me, or lying serene and calm beside me, and I don’t think I’d trade that knowledge for the world.

The plane ride to Singapore was one of the most uncomfortable journeys I’ve had to endure; not because of screaming children or annoying passengers, but because a fuck-up on the seating arrangements put me right next to the person I’d spent the past few days avoiding – William Beckett. The flight attendant finally left us alone after apologizing for the seventh time for “any inconvenience this has caused”, and I only managed to feel relieved that she was gone for about ten seconds before I remembered who I was sitting next to, and we were plunged into an awkward silence. Thankfully William just pulled a book out of his bag and began reading, glasses perched neatly on the bridge of his nose.

Twenty minutes later, when I was finally reassured that this wasn’t half as bad as my brain had made it out to be, the plane started to take off and when I glanced over at Bill his book was lying discarded on his lap and he was gripping the armrests on either side of him, taking in short ragged breaths with his eyes squeezed shut and mouth slightly open. Fuck - I’d forgotten about the fear of flying that William was somehow _still_ not over, despite having been touring for years.

I’d decided to leave it, let him ride it out, trying to comfort him would most likely just make things more awkward between us anyway – but then the first wave of turbulence hit and he let out a short gasp, and I didn’t even realize I was grabbing his hand, rubbing little circles into his wrist and whispering reassurances into his ear in Spanish until he looked at me, equal parts terrified and something else that I couldn’t quite place. When I became aware that I was still speaking I stopped and looked down, a blush rising in my cheeks, and when I looked up again I only just managed to catch the sight of him still staring at me, before he practically lunged forward and our lips collided.

It was automatic, the way my hands flew straight to his waist whilst his went to cradle my jaw, the slide of our mouths as we adjusted to each other’s movements. He unbuckled his seatbelt and shifted closer, swinging one leg over my legs and settling in my lap, and I found myself thinking about how incredible it was that he could change so quickly from being powerless and terrified into the determined creature that was now licking his way into my mouth in the middle of an airplane. I was working purely on instinct, fisting his hair and giving as much as I got, and it’s not that I _wanted_ to stop - of course I didn’t - but we were in an enclosed space with a bunch of strangers, thousands of meters in the air, and with the way that Bill was grinding his hips down against my already hardening cock, I realized I should probably stop this before I was forced to spend an entire flight to Singapore with a boner.

“Bill, maybe-” – he cut me off by shoving his tongue further into my mouth and I grunted in surprise. I was about to continue my sentence after he pulled away, panting, but then he leant forward again, breath hot against my ear, and said simply – “Bathroom. ” – before swinging his other leg into the aisle, standing up, and walking away.

There was _nothing_ desperate in the way it barely took me a second before I was standing up and following suit, trying to walk normally down the aisle towards the bathroom. William was waiting for me, holding the door open, and when I got close enough he grabbed me by the shirt and practically pulled me inside, (so I’m not the _only_ one who’s desperate, thank you very much).

I’d forgotten how small airplane bathrooms were, or maybe that’s just one of those things you only realize when you’re in there with another person who’s almost as tall as you are. After locking the door behind us, Bill put the seat down and guided me backwards until I was sat, before resuming our earlier position by straddling me again. He leant forward and kissed my jaw, reaching a hand up to pop a button off my shirt with every kiss, and my mind was reeling, trying to follow his movements and not make a fool of myself in the process.

He started grinding down on me again, hips forcing our bodies together, and as nice as it was, the friction was more teasing than anything else, and I was getting kind of desperate. William apparently felt the same way because he let out a frustrated sigh and climbed out of my lap. There were a few seconds where he just looked at me, as if he was considering something, and then his fingers were wrapped around his belt whilst he unbuckled it.

“Take your pants off.” He ordered, pulling his belt free from its loops and dropping it carelessly on the floor.

I obliged, kicking them to the side when they were off, and I thought I had a clearer idea of where this was going now, so when Bill leaned down to kiss me again, crowding me against the toilet seat I pulled back and said “Do you want me to…?” and he shook his head, strands of hair falling into his eyes.

“No,” his voice was low and rough. “I want to ride you.”

 _Fuck._ Want flared in my stomach and I grabbed his jaw, kissing him harder than before, and he made a little noise of surprise before complying. A few seconds later he pulled away, saying “wait a sec” and reaching for his discarded jeans and rummaging through his pockets for some lube and a condom. He pulled off his boxers and I realized that I should probably do that too, and once I had kicked them off I reached for Bill’s arm and pulled him towards me.

“Let me,” I said, taking the lube and condom out of his hand, and he didn’t reply, just watched as I squirted some lube onto my fingers and reached between us, slowly pushing one finger inside of him. He drew in a deep breath and let his head fall back, and I placed feather-light kisses on his throat whilst slowly moving my finger in and out.

“Two.” He said quietly and I pushed another inside him, watching his face as he adjusted to the sensation. I crooked my fingers slightly and was rewarded with a choked up moan, and then he was moving, fucking himself on my fingers and it was just so fucking hypnotizing.

He made a noise that could’ve been a word but certainly wasn’t a coherent one, and pulled my fingers out of him before snatching the condom out of my grasp and ripping it open. I watched his face as he rolled it on me – cheeks flushed and pupils blown – and then he was climbing on top of me and sinking down onto my cock and every thought that had been in my head was lost to the overpowering pleasure shooting up my spine and radiating in my solar plexus.

The stimulation seemed somehow even stronger than it was the last time, because he was the one controlling how much or little I was going to get. He started moving only a few seconds after he’d taken my whole length, and I let out an involuntary moan as the pleasure hit me. His head was thrown back again so I couldn’t see his face, but he was hard and leaking and something told me he was hitting the right angle with every thrust.

I reached a hand in between our bodies and began dragging my fist up and down his cock, and then he was moving faster and heat was building up in my stomach as I tried to match his pace; he moaned low and lethal and I said “fuck-” before coming hard, eyes tight shut. When I’d mostly come down I opened my eyes, and William had slowed down thankfully, but he was still hard and unsatisfied so I pushed him off me and walked him over until he was pressed against the locked door. I sank to my knees and easily pressed two fingers into his stretched hole, fucking him whilst I took his cock into my mouth, sucking gently, and it took him an entire eight seconds before he was groaning and coming into my mouth. I only choked slightly before swallowing, and when I stood up, William even looked slightly impressed.

We sort of just stayed there, staring at each other for a while before someone pounded a fist into the door and shouted: “Y’know some of us actually have to piss, can you hurry the fuck up please?”

 _Fuck._ That was unmistakably Ryland. I looked at Bill, but he’d already started pulling his clothes on so I decided to follow, pulling up my jeans and buttoning up my shirt.

I glanced at our reflections in the mirror and realized that if explaining how we both ended up in the same bathroom together wasn’t hard enough, the raw lips and messy hair weren’t helping our cause – besides, the whole room reeked of sex.

I took a deep breath and reached for the door handle, losing my balance slightly as the plane jerked. Ryland looked up from where he was leaning and his eyes followed me out the door. “Gabe, what are you…?” then I’m guessing he must’ve seen Bill because his sentence trailed off and I didn’t run, because we were on a plane, but I did walk briskly back to my seat.


	4. Praying for Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that is a Panic! reference - you're very welcome.

SINGfest had already started when we landed but we didn’t have a set until the next day, so that left us with a whole day of doing whatever we wanted, and I had someone to catch up with.

He was sweaty and buzzing from a set when I finally managed to track him down, but when I hugged him he somehow still managed to smell amazing. We were halfway through smoking a blunt when Travis cleared his throat and said: “So what’s up?”

It wasn’t a casual question. He wasn’t asking out of politeness or – God forbid – small talk; he wanted the truth.

I could tell Travie – he was one of my oldest friends, if anyone would understand, it’d be him. I cleared my throat and handed him the blunt. “I’m…seeing someone. Well, not exactly “seeing”, but we’ve fucked a couple times and I…we’re friends – close friends and I don’t wanna fuck it up.”

He nodded thoughtfully, smoke escaping his mouth and was silent for a long time, long enough for my mind to start wandering, and I was halfway through a scenario in which I proposed to William and he carried my children ( _Gabe, seriously – what the fuck?)_ when Travie spoke.

“It’s Bill, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

_Wow, okay, I wasn’t expecting that._

I automatically sputtered out too-fast, too-defensive denial _(“What? No, of course not, Bill’s my-”)_ but Travis just laughed and shook his head. “You’ve been hooked on that boy since day one, Saporta. Don’t deny it.”

I opened my mouth but I honestly didn’t have a response for that.

He tapped the blunt out on an ashtray and I kept my eyes fixed on the smoke that was twisting out of it as it tried to relight itself _(Bill could probably come up with some comparison between that and the human condition, but fuck if I knew)_ \- “I know you’re suppressing a lot of shit right now but” – he cleared his throat, so impossibly calm and unaffected, as he always seemed to be – “you really need to figure out how you feel about him, before you go all Gabe Saporta on him and fuck everything up.”

I felt slightly affronted by that comment and was about to ask what the fuck _that_ was supposed to mean, when Ryland climbed onto the bus and spotted us.

“Gabriel.” He made his way over to me, a suspicious look on his face. “You owe me an explanation.”

I slunk down lower on the couch and made a noise like I didn’t know to what he could possibly be referring, and he rolled his eyes.

“Airplane bathroom? You and Bill? You guys were in there for like 20 minutes!”

Travie was just staring at me with an amused look on his face, and I sat there for a few seconds, opening and closing my mouth like an uncomfortable fish.

Eventually I remembered the dumb inside joke that Bill, Sisky and I came up with on Honda Civic, and thanked God for our warped sense of humor.

“Ready?” I began, Ryland looked lost. “Break!” – and I ran off the bus, leaving a confused Ryland and giggling Travie behind.

 

~

 

I realized later that day - when the entirety of The Academy Is… (minus Chislett who was off doing God knows what) paraded onto our bus and Bill curtseyed with a bottle of Jack before slumping down beside me on the couch, grinning – that really I was making this a bigger deal than it was. Our friendship was mostly the same, I still got all the playful dramatics that William was so prone to, as well as the gorgeous laugh and glowing smile, and on top of that, I knew what he tasted like, what his skin felt like under my fingers, what he sounded like when he came – there wasn’t any obvious downside to the situation, why make it more complicated than it had to be?

This realization – however accurate or misinformed it turned out to be – let me relax enough to enjoy being around Bill again, and even enough that when he joined me on stage to sing Bring It, right before Sisky came on to do his rendition of Travie’s rap, I pulled him towards me and kissed him on the cheek – and yeah, it was probably just wishful thinking, but it seemed like he had more energy after that.

Bill was calling all the shots, and I was ok with that, which is why when everyone was crammed into our bus in Japan playing some ridiculous drinking game, and Bill slid his long legs into my lap, I was more than willing to do anything that he might suggest.

_(Which, in hindsight, probably wasn’t the best position to be in, seeing as it had previously lead to me asking some very sketchy-looking German locals for directions and ending up in the wrong side of town, trying to convince a homeless guy to give me my hat back – in the end I let him keep it – but, well it wasn’t exactly like I could say “no” to William anyway, otherwise The Thing about him wouldn’t be true, remember?)_

Fortunately, this time around he wasn’t imposing his terrible judge of character on me (although his suggestion wasn’t any less frustrating) and simply involved him climbing into my lap and giving me a slightly wobbly but still effective lap dance.

He got Sisky – who, for some god-forsaken reason was left in charge of the bus’s sound system – to play _But It’s Better If You Do_ because it wouldn’t be a FBR tour if we didn’t shamelessly blast our labelmates’ songs at least once, and ran his hands along his chest, mouthing the lyrics and giving me a unashamedly William-like grin that I couldn’t help but mirror.

I heard Alex wolf-whistle and snuck a glance behind Bill to see our band-mates whooping and grinning as they watched the performance. I played along of course, winking at them and eyeing Bill up and down almost comically, until he started grinding down onto my lap and it stopped being funny.

I watched his face, eyes closed and lip bit in concentration as he worked his body to the beat, the sound of Brendon’s voice fading into background static as my mind focused solely on Bill, almost as if he was conducting hypnosis with his hips and I was the lucky test subject.

It was impossible the fluidity with which he moved, perfectly synchronized and confident, and my drunken mind fixated on the one thought of how Bill barely ever dances, and when he does its nothing more than a bit of hip-swinging and hopping around – nothing compared to the moves he was putting on now – and maybe, he’d practiced this. Maybe he’d done this to someone else, a significant other, or just some rando at a party, and was using the otherwise pretty useless knowledge for some fun in a game of _Truth or Dare_ that had everyone pitted against me for some reason, without me being aware that I was even playing.

Images of Bill doing this to faceless lovers, partners, people filled my mind and I felt a surge of jealously gather in my stomach, and it wasn’t even by choice that I reached forward, sliding my hands into his hair, and kissing him like I was afraid he’d disappear if I let him out of my grasp.

I let him pull away after a few seconds, and for a terrible moment I thought he’d storm off or get angry, but he just smiled, shifted closer to me and kissed me back.

I could hear the childish cheers from the others _(“Damn, William’s working those legendary hips!”)_ – it wasn’t as if this was the first time they’d seen us kiss: drunken dares, gay chicken – all hidden behind the protection of too many drinks, “a bit of fun”, “just to please the masses” and, of course – never, _ever_ meaning anything at all.

My mind wandered back to the first time Bill and I kissed; back when his hair touched his shoulders and Midtown hadn’t collapsed like a horse on a runway yet, back when we were just inside the border of friendship, at some nameless club with some equally nameless people, back when it was curiosity that fuelled the motion, not want or desire. I don’t miss it, except that I do, because at least back then there was the sweet protection of ignorance – no consequences, no risks, no feelings. No meaning. Bill pulled away and I felt myself swallow.

~

I was balancing precariously on the edge of sleep when I heard the curtain to my bunk open and felt the consequential gust of air that accompanied it.

Bill managed (quite incredibly) to fit his entire, long-limbed body into the bunk before I came to my senses enough to ask: “What are you-” which he silenced effectively by pressing his lips against mine, and, well, I wasn’t about to complain.

After a considerable amount of shuffling around and unsuccessful attempts not to hit his head on the ceiling of the bunk, he was straddling me, and only then did I notice that he was wearing his pajama bottoms (knowing him, probably the ones with the godforsaken monkeys on them) and I had to suppress a laugh at the thought of Bill sneaking out of his bus after having put the other Academy boys to bed. When he pushed his tongue past the seam of my lips I could taste his toothpaste.

I let my hands slide from where they were resting on his back, over the waistband of his pants and the curve of his ass, and when I pressed my thumbs into the crevice of his hips, his breath hitched in a way that even my subconscious couldn’t have beaten, and my guts twisted with arousal.

If it had been my choice, I would’ve fucked him right then, but – as I said – he was calling all the shots, so I resigned to hoping the next shot he called would somehow involve the hard-on that was very rapidly forming under my sheets.

I soon discovered that that was, in fact, the shot he was calling, when his mouth moved from my mouth to my neck to my chest, ghosting kisses down my navel until he pulled the sheets off of me. He stopped then, to my confusion, and I looked down to see him arching an eyebrow at me.

“Think you can be quiet?”

Up until that moment, I’d forgotten we weren’t the only ones on the bus, but I nodded frantically anyway, mostly just desperate for any sort of stimulation. He smirked, shrugged slightly as if to say, “whatever you say” and went down.


	5. A Wicked Game That You've Perfected

As it turned out, I wasn’t very good at being quiet. Which – hey, wasn’t really my _fault_ because William practically deep throated me for 3 minutes straight, if it had been you, you wouldn’t have been quiet either – trust me.

Justified or not, the glares of my bandmates over breakfast were kind of intimidating, so I spent most of the next day avoiding everyone.

We almost missed our flight to Belgium because Nate, Alex, Butcher and Sisky got into a very intense luggage trolley-ball contest which ended in us having to convince security to let them on the plane. I swear we’re all children.

 

~

“It’s not funny.”

William’s arms were crossed, eyebrows knitted together, picking at a loose thread in his sleeve. The rest of TAI and all of Cobra were spread around the hotel room, faux-serious faces on, all looking at Bill.

“Oh, no not at all,” replied Mike solemnly, the waver of amusement in his voice barely noticeable.

“We were just wondering,” Sisky began, and I knew this was the beginning of the end. “How exactly you could mistake the two?”

William looked up, the glare seething hot and aimed at Siska, and the flood gates opened. Alex was on the floor, cackling, whilst Carden punched Sisky weakly in the shoulder, tears of laughter brimming in his eyes. I threw my head back and laughed until my stomach ached, and then some more. When I came to my senses, Bill was still sitting there, giving us his best shot at an offended glare, and I leapt onto the bed where he was sat, dodging Vicky, and poked him in every area on his body that I could reach. He struggled at first, pushing me away and protesting, but eventually he gave in, letting himself smile and I didn’t get off him until he let out a lighthearted “fuck off, Saporta” and shoved me away.

I returned to my seat, and watched Bill sit up and pull down his shirt with one hand and flatten his hair with the other. The others had just about recovered from their laughing fit and Vicky clapped her hands and said: “Alright, who’s next?”

Apparantly, I was next, so Alex looked me in the eye and said. “Gabe. Truth or Dare?”

His stare was kind of disconcerting so I opted for truth. Nate, Alex and Ryland turned to each other to decide the question in the overdramatic way they always do (which involved a lot of side-eyes and stage whispering) before Ryland turned to me and cleared his throat.

“Gabriel,” he was in Guy Ripley mode, English accent ringing clear – it always freaked me out when he did that. “Have you ever given a blowjob?”

I choked out a strange noise of surprise, and without thinking, glanced over at William to see how he was reacting. His eyes were fixed on mine, watching, waiting to see how I’d reply. It almost seemed like there was something smug in his expression.

Memories flooded my brain and I saw him lying on my hotel bed in Melbourne, gasping and pulling my hair as I wrapped my lips around him; then on the plane, somewhere miles above the Indian ocean, with my fingers inside him and his cock inside my mouth until he came hot and wet down my throat.

I looked down and laughed slightly. “Nah – I haven’t. Nice try though, I know you just want me to get down on my knees, Blackinton.”

I laughed and they laughed and even though the game carried on as if nothing had changed, Bill avoided talking to me or even making eye contact for the rest of it.

~

The next couple dates were festivals, so we all got swept up into all the timetables, interviews and shows we were playing. It was easy to get lost in it, so easy that I barely saw Bill at all until he had to come on for Snakes.

As Ryland played the intro and William was greeted by the roar of the crowds, I indulged myself in taking a good look at him. He was dressed in black, a dark grey skinny shirt unbuttoned generously at the top underneath a leather jacket, with his usual tight black jeans. I was so smooth and indiscrete with my staring that I nearly missed my cue and had to rush the first line slightly. _Real smooth, Gabanti_.

It didn’t stop there though, he spent the whole song swinging his hips and running his hands through his hair and down his chest and it took me half the song to realise that he was doing this _on purpose_. Not offering himself to me, but instead making me want him so bad that I’d do anything to get it. _Damn, that scheming motherfucker._

~

It took me an entirety of two days, three hours and forty-six minutes to give in, in which Bill showered in my bus and walked around wearing nothing but a very loosely placed towel, and flirted with Pete practically nonstop. To be fair to Bill, I wouldn’t have held out for that long if it weren’t for the fact that it was almost impossible to get him alone.

I slammed him against the door a little harder than I had meant to, and I would’ve apologised if it weren’t for the fact that I got the feeling he kind of liked it.

He smirked against my mouth as I pressed up against him. “Someone’s eager.”

I pushed my tongue into his mouth in response and slid my hand into his hair, pulling firmly. I was fully hard now, and as I rutted against him I could feel he was too, and I was about to move over to the bed when I felt him press down on my shoulder and I eagerly obliged, sinking to my knees and unbuckling his belt. I heard his sharp intake of breath as I pulled down his boxers and slid my mouth over his cock.

He chuckles slightly. “Gabe Saporta’s never blown anyone in his life, he says.”

_Okay, I deserved that._

“I wish I had a camera right now,” he said, smirking contentedly. “For proof.”

I looked up at him, his eyes closed, sweat sticking the hair to his face, skin bright and glowing.

 _So do I_.

I pulled off him and he made a noise of disapproval, which I ignored, because I was getting desperate and I didn’t want this to be over before I’d even fucked him.

There were two minutes of unsophisticated fumbling before I had him underneath me on the bed, my fingers slick and sliding into him. When my fingers brushed his prostate he pulled me closer, hands linked together over my shoulders and let out a perfect little whine that somehow made me even harder. It was kind of incredible how turned on I was – my body ached with it, I was subconsciously rutting against the mattress, desperate for some sort of friction, and every time Bill made a sound or tensed or even _breathed_ the desire just became more and more urgent.

When he finally gave me to okay to fuck him, I don’t think I’d have been able to hold back if I tried. My fingers tightened in his hair as I pushed in, and I felt his legs wrapped around me, holding me closer as I filled him up.

I was torn between wanting to fuck him as hard as possible and wanting to make it last but as I attempted to catch my breath, William decided to make the decision for me, blowing hair out of his face and saying: “Gabe, we have the whole night, would you please just fuck me now.”

That was more than enough encouragement for me, so I moved, rewarded by a low whine from Bill as I pushed back in. Being unable to touch him for so long (only a few days felt like a lifetime when it came to William) had made me realize how much I craved those little William noises: the gasps, the whines, the moans – every little indication that I was making him feel maybe even half as good as he made me.

Pulling me closer with his arms, he began sucking little bruises into my neck and shoulder, the sensation of his teeth grazing the skin and his breath on the bruise, already wet and sensitive, heightened the pleasure and I felt myself involuntarily moving faster, choking out low moans.

I knew it wasn’t going to take me long, with the way my legs were shaking and my thoughts became more and more incoherent, so I curled my hand around his cock, trying to find some sort of matching rhythm.

William grabbed a fistful of my hair, gasped “Gabe,” and came – his back arching and shuddering as I rode him through it. When he came to, he reached his hand up and began running his thumb in little circles behind my ear. With a satisfied little smile, he whispered, “Come on baby,” and I jerked, ears ringing, and came harder than I had in a long time – if not ever.


	6. The Light From The Lamp On The Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ........sorry

We carried on like that for a while – just William and I in our own world of not-so-subtle touches in crowded rooms, paired with desperate noises in hotel suites – and it carried us right through the UK festivals, until we were boarding a plane at Heathrow airport, knowing that once it landed we’d be back to real life again.

But somehow the possibility of being apart from him felt so foreign that I couldn’t really comprehend it, sort of like it was happening to some other Gabe Saporta in some alternate dimension, so for the next few days after I got back to New York, I kept expecting to wake up with the warm weight of his body next to mine, and when I didn’t, I had to ignore the ache of disappointment that arose in my chest.

I was restless, but not from a lack of things to do; after all, the album release date was looming and the entire band was being so drowned in various interviews and performances for its promotion that it almost felt like a breath of fresh air when the VMAs came around.

I was excited, but not because I expected to see William there, in fact no one knew he was going until a few hours before, when he’d got on a last minute flight to Vegas for some Bill-fueled reason that no one could figure out. That being said, my stomach still did a weird flip when I saw him, and I couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot for pretty much the duration of the event.

But something was different. Something in the way he would take a little too long to respond to my dumb comments, or the glazed look he would have in his eyes just for a couple seconds when everyone else was laughing – something had changed and I didn’t know what or why and it distracted me too much to even pay attention to anyone or anything else when the Decaydance crew all went out for drinks after the show. Not that I would’ve paid attention to anyone else but William anyway, but still.

The whole nature of the outing was that it was very difficult to get William on his own, so when I finally managed it, it stung more than a little that all he did was shrug me off with a roll of his eyes and a “I’m _fine_ , Gabe.”

“You don’t look fine.” I replied, feeling strangely defensive.

He sighed and looked out at the mostly deserted street but didn’t reply. I don’t know what it is about streetlamps, but they’ve always seemed to cast light on William’s face in the most complimentary way, framing his features in an iridescent orange glow.

I reached forward almost instinctively, and when my fingers grazed the side of his neck he flinched, but didn’t pull away. I hadn’t really realized how much I’d wanted to kiss him until I was leaning forward and pressing my lips against his. There was a moment where he was just letting me kiss him, practically unreactive, before something clicked and he was fisting my shirt and opening his mouth for me, like he might be able to make me understand what was happening in his mind by letting me taste him.

And then it was gone, almost as quick as it started, and Bill was breathing heavily, shaking his head, and I wanted to say “What’s wrong?” but I was seized by some extraordinary terror and my mouth wouldn’t open. It came out so quiet at first that I thought maybe I’d imagined it, but then he said it again, slightly louder and I knew I hadn’t.

“I can’t do this anymore, Gabe.”

“Do what?” I said, and concluded that that was the dumbest thing I had said in the history of ever.

Bill just laughed weakly, and I saw the tears in his eyes. “Us…I have…”

“I’m in love with you.”

I didn’t expect the words to leave my mouth, but I wasn’t that surprised that they had. Somehow, somewhere along the line I’d let my guard down just a second too long, and he’d found his way in – as soon as that happened, I was done for – and now I was stupidly, inexcusably, head-over-heels in love with him. I don’t think I fully realized it until I said it, but once I had it seemed so secondary, so obvious that it felt almost trivial.

William didn’t even look taken aback, just looked at me with defeat, resignation and sadness in his eyes and whispered: “I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will update this soon and explain everything. For now, don't hate me too much.


	7. A Million Inevitabilities

I should have been too busy to think about it, what with the album release and all, but of course – it was all I _could_ think about, everything else faded into background noise; interviews, meetings, parties all conducted on autopilot: a smile here, a handshake there…the formula is simple if you pay close enough attention.

My heart wasn’t in it – not at all. My heart was in his hands, bleeding and beating only for him, and he’d walked away and left my chest hollow, ribcage caving in on itself slightly more with every breath I took. And there I was again, wondering if it had all been a terrible mistake, letting him in like that, and I thought that maybe if it had been a mistake I’d be able to leave it behind me. Mourn and move on. But it wasn’t, and no matter how much I tried, nothing could convince me otherwise.

The problem was the inevitability of it all. It didn’t matter that I had no idea what was coming; no matter what I did, it was always going to end up like this. _God, I really fucked it up this time._

The _¡Viva La Cobra!_ Release party was, as parties go, pretty fucking epic. It was the kind of party that had ‘Gabe Saporta’ written all over it (almost literally, in this case), and a month ago I’d probably have been drooling at the thought of it, but the ache in my chest was still there, and the cocktail in my hand wasn’t doing anything to aid it.

The sound of my own voice blasted through the surround speakers and it was starting to make my head hurt. I went to refill my drink and began idly chatting up a blonde I’d never seen before, mostly just to quell the worries of my bandmates. They’d been pretty good at giving me space so far, probably blaming my lack of enthusiasm on stress for the album release, or just assuming it would be wiser to let me weather it out by myself. I appreciated it – the last thing I needed was them going all soft-eyed and pitying on me, I’d probably punch them.

The blonde (Kayley? Katie?) was halfway through some story about her job or her ex or something when my eyes started to wander the room. I was beginning to regret starting the conversation already, she really wasn’t sparing any of the details of her account, and then I saw him.

He was standing by the doorway, kissing Victoria on the cheek in greeting, his hair cut slightly shorter so that now it only just grazed his shoulders. I watched his mouth move as he said something to her and she turned around and pointed at me, mouth moving in response to whatever he’d asked. He followed her arm and caught my eye, raising his hand in greeting and offering me a small smile, and I hated how my heartbeat paced a little faster at the gesture.

I muttered an “excuse me,” to the blonde that I had long since stopped paying any attention to (there was a flash of confusion and hurt on her face before I left, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to care) and weaved my way through the crowds of stationary people to where he stood.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded to the door he’d just entered from, a wordless gesture for him to follow me outside. The street was mostly bare, bar the few people standing around and smoking, and it felt all too similar to the night six weeks before when he’d walked away from me.

But he was here now, inhaling shakily and closing his eyes as if bracing himself for something.

“I owe you an explanation,” he said.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

“I…” he began, before clearing his throat and starting again. “In February, Christine found out she was pregnant. We’d been having problems before that, but when she said she wanted to keep the baby of course I stood by her. That became all I really thought about for the next few months, even through releasing and promoting Santi and I know Christine was upset with me for doing the tour whilst she was stuck in Chicago…”

He trailed off, eyes gazing at empty space, before meeting my gaze. “And then you came along, and yeah you were _there_ before, but not like this, not when I knew you wanted me. I wanted you so badly; I think I’ve wanted you since we met, but I really realized it then, and once that happened I couldn’t help myself.”

He laughed weakly, and I swore I could see his eyes shining with tears. “I should have said something, I know. But everything in my life just felt so complex and out of my control and you were there and tangible and I knew how I felt about you. How I still feel about you.”

My heart jumped at the words but I stayed silent and let him continue.

“She was born two weeks ago, Evie Beckett.” He smiled this proud Dad smile that I couldn’t help but mirror, and I instinctively pulled him into a hug, feeling him laugh against me, and only then did I realize how much I didn’t want to let go.

We were both silent a while, stuck in the comfortable embrace, and then I heard him whisper: “I’m sorry I ran away.”

We broke apart but I still held onto his shoulders, like he might disappear again. His face was wet with tears and there were a million things I wanted to say, but instead I just leaned forward and kissed him, and all the feelings I’d suppressed in the past few weeks erupted in my chest as he kissed back.


	8. You Are Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last chapter! honestly quite proud of myself for actually finishing a fic for once in my life. this chapter is basically entirely smut with a bit of fluff so enjoy.

We were on each other before I’d managed to close the door to my apartment; William was tugging on my collar and pulling me towards him, his mouth open against mine. I certainly wasn’t complaining, we could barely keep our hands off each other for the entirety of the taxi ride home (which admittedly had only been 10 minutes long, but still) and being able to actually kiss him was almost relieving.

I tugged his scarf off, almost choking him in the process (when his eyes lost their focus and he made a small throaty noise I was tempted to keep it there, but at that point I wasn’t sure I had the patience – maybe another time) as he tried to help me shrug off my coat.

We managed to rid ourselves of our clothes somewhere between the front door and my bed – leaving a trail of mess that in any other situation I might have stopped to clear up, but not when I had Bill with me, naked and wanting – until eventually we collapsed onto the bed, a tangled mess of skin as I kissed down his jaw to his neck.

Two minutes later and I had two fingers inside him, the sweat sticking his hair to the sides of his face as he took shallow breaths. He looked surreal like that, and I thought about how I’d called him so many times in the past month and he’d never answered, and how once, maybe the seventh or eighth time I’d heard his voicemail ring through the static of the phone, I finally started to register the thought that he might never come back.

I pulled my fingers out and shifted his hips so that they aligned with mine, and as I pushed in he sighed, stroking the nape of my neck and whispered: “I missed you.”

_God Beckett, you have no fucking idea._

I brushed away the thought as soon as it entered my head, but it glowed in the backlight of my mind nonetheless as I started to move, and I couldn’t help getting distracted by it; the thought that this wasn’t sex anymore, it wasn’t a quick fuck in a crappy hotel room, or a blowjob in a stranger’s bathroom, and I felt cheesy that the thought crossed my mind, but as William started to gasp my name and pull me in for a kiss, I realized this might just be the closest I’d ever been to making love.

I wanted to hold onto this moment, somehow stay suspended in time, in a place where it was only me and him, where the threat of the outside world could no longer touch us, but mostly I just really wanted to continue fucking him into the mattress.

Even as the stimulation started to cloud my thoughts, I couldn’t tear my eyes off him: the way his mouth hung slightly open, lips wet with saliva and sweat; the way his breathing hitched gorgeously as I wrapped a fist around him; the way he whispered my name and smiled, as if he knew something I didn’t.

The arousal had my body on fire, heat filling me from my toes to where my fingers were intertwined with his, and it was easily the most overwhelming pleasure I’d ever experienced. My legs were shaking by the time his eyes slipped shut and his whole body arched, and I came practically half a second after him, a wave of heat and pleasure crashing over me, and I barely remember pulling out, only that when I came to I was lying next to him, both of us panting, until the exhaustion washed over us and we fell asleep - side by side, hand in hand.

~

And now we’re here, present day: October 24th 2007, and the sunlight on the bed is fractured by the blinds, creating a pretty artistic picture on William Beckett’s sleeping face. Damn, I really need to get Jon Walker to teach me how to use a camera.

William opens his eyes reluctantly, face breaking into a warm little grin when he sees me there, and he sits up, leaning on his arms and says: “Mornin’.”

I reach over to flatten his spectacular bed hair, but he swats my hand away and shifts closer to me, swinging a leg over me and sitting up.

He sits there for a moment, just straddling my stomach, before leaning down to kiss my neck. I feel his lips on me as he roams around my skin, biting at my collar and kissing my stomach, and I’m pretty content with letting him take care of my morning wood when he suddenly pauses from sucking a hickey into my hipbone and sits up slightly, hair dishevelled from where I’ve been stroking it, and says: “I’m in love with you, y’know,” and before I can even react he’s swallowed me down almost all the way, and any words I’d been meaning to say are transformed into a strangled noise of pleasure.

It doesn’t take me long, with the way he sucks me off like it’s his last meal on death row, and when he’s finished swallowing down my orgasm he just flops down beside me and watches me attempt to recover.

About half a minute later, I manage to say: “I’m in love with you too, but you already knew that.”

He grins and says: “Well, you can never be too sure.”

I look at him and he’s got that boyish grin on his face, his lips still red from a few minutes earlier, and I forget whatever it was I’d meant to say.

He looks at me for a few seconds, cocks his head to the side, and says: “Hey, what are you and the Cobras doing in November?”


End file.
